


off-piste

by myconstant



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Ski Instructor!Nate, Ski Patrol!Brad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11839746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myconstant/pseuds/myconstant
Summary: "Trombley, this corduroy is indecent."





	off-piste

Brad doesn’t get out of bed on his day off for anything less than fresh powder, bright sun, and low wind. He spends enough of his working days slogging through crud, clouds, and gusts of ice, but when these conditions hit, it’s as undeniable as a siren song.

He gets up early and pulls on his layers and boots. Hoists his skis over his shoulder and gets into the powder before it’s defiled by loud tourists from New Jersey.

“Hey Colbert,” Q-Tip says, scraping at ice with a pick as Brad loads onto the lift. “Hope you got your handwarmers.”

Brad scowls beneath his muffler as he reaches up to lower the bar. “Handwarmers are for small children and lawyers.” And Brad only wears trusty GoreTex from the eighties.

It’s beautiful out here today, like a picture or a painting, the snow soft and supple beneath his skis. Brad heads down from the lift and makes over to where the runs are steep and nothing short of majestic, where he can plough through the powder in God-given solitude.

Except for that flash of yellow over in the glade to his left.

Someone’s tearing through the trees, fast and reckless, like they’ve already gone and decided that the here and now is a fantastic way to die.

It’s his day off, but fuck it. Brad hates idiots, especially idiots in bright yellow ski jackets. It’s always the yellow jackets. He veers off the trail and into the glades, shredding the snow into thin white clouds. The terrain is rough and densely woody, a solid Bad Idea given the dubious snow coverage, but the moron that Brad’s chasing is zipping ahead, easy and at home like there's nothing to it, and Brad’s already here so Bad Idea it is.

By the time Yellow Jacket glides to a stop, they’re out of the trees in a clearing far below and Brad’s knees are complaining loudly.

“Sir,” Brad calls out, adopting a somewhat well-used tone that says _you might have paid one hundred and fifty bucks for your lift ticket but I'm still your daddy_. “That is dangerous skiing. Be advised - ”

And then Nate pulls off his goggles and helmet and grins at Brad, and Brad's gotta say, he's almost impressed.

“Be advised what, Brad?”

“Isn’t there a conga line of second wives that you should be leading down the bunny hill?” he asks, indignant.

Nate laughs. “Day off. Like you,” he says, nodding at Brad’s own plain clothes get-up. “Although unlike you, I draw lines between work and pleasure.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for trying to keep your ass out of trouble.”

“Did my ass look like it was in trouble?”

Nate says this without a hint of smugness, like it's just a question that he and Brad both happen to know the answer to. The answer being that Nate is really, really good. If Brad believed in fucking useless inventions like GoPros, Nate would probably be one of maybe three people he would allow to have one.

Doesn’t matter.

“Only idiots go tree-skiing with this level of snow coverage,” Brad replies.

“Funny,” Nate says thoughtfully, putting his helmet back on and clicking it back into place. “Look who followed.”

Unbelievable.

“Want to do some chutes?” Nate asks, pulling down his goggles. 

“More people should know what a pain in the ass you are.”

Nate grins at this and Brad follows him anyway.

  
  



End file.
